At the core of Guruvayoor Ambalanadayil is a woman who stands as the unforeseen bone of contention between two men. If the younger man, Vinu (Basil Joseph) spends a large part of his time cursing the girlfriend who jilted him, the older man, Anandan (Prithviraj Sukumaran) unaware that he is married to the same woman, Parvathy (Nikhila Vimal), not only lends his shoulder to cry on, but also joins in brutally judging her. In hindsight, perhaps it was this shared hatred for a woman who dared to jilt a man that laid the foundation for their overwhelming bromance. Though Vinu comes across as vulnerable and malleable, the fact is that Vinu and Anandan are two sides of the same coin. Both embody toxic masculinity and cannot take rejection of any kind. So in theory Vinu is priming to be Anandan. In a telling scene, Anandan’s father-in-law tells Vinu that they are the same and don’t deserve his daughter. That’s why their bromance at one point outscored even that of their respective romantic relationships. Because there are absolutely no stakes involved in their bromance and requires very little effort to keep it together. They have found a common ground to hoodwink their inadequacies rather than own up to their faults. So it is no wonder that their life partners are kept on the sidelines. Even in the climax, considering the way Vinu’s apology is worded keeping his entitlement and ownership over her intact (look at how he addresses her) not surprisingly it is Anandan who corrects him and not the woman.  

In Premalu, the friendship between Sachin (Naslen) and Amal Davis (Sangeeth Prathap) is as crucial to the plotline as his romance with Reenu (Mamitha Baiju). Amal is the emotional crutch that Sachin desperately hangs on to as he struggles to navigate himself soon after her rejection. Amal literally and figuratively appears as a guardian angel at crucial junctures in his life. He is so focused on Sachin’s happiness that he doesn’t think twice before rebuking anyone who has hurt him.

Manjummel Boys is headlined by 11 men, and half of them haven’t figured out what to do with their lives yet. They are an unruly bunch, sketched with such irreverence that it is impossible to visualize them doing anything out of their comfort zone, forget trading lives to save a friend. All through their car trip to Kodaikanal, the boys are boozing, and making a fool of themselves—and it’s a portion that might find resonance among every space where men socialize.

While the world in Aavesham is behest of men and boys. It starts in college, which leads to their crammed PG accommodations and eventually to a local Don’s den where the boys find themselves stuck between fierce men and weapons. The only touch of empathy comes from Bibi’s mother who is brimming with affection. And that’s the only instance when you see Ranga (Fahadh Faasil) looking out-of-sorts. So much so that even in the middle of thrashing goons, one phone call from her can momentarily leave him defenseless. But otherwise, the film is about boys and their everyday struggles to rein in their egos. It can be the short leader of a gang who decides to thrash his juniors when one of them laughs in his face or the harassed juniors who want to retaliate for their humiliation or a seemingly formidable don who is lonely and needy and tries to cover it up through aggressive devices. The characters grapple with anger, aggression, depression, and loss and typically they are either in denial or relying on booze to tide over their worries. In reality, Aavesham is about an emotionally scarred Ranga who is desperate to be loved but the pressures of belonging to a world of organized crime alienates him from experiencing these emotions.

Vineeth Sreenivasan’s Varshangalkku Shesham pivots around Murali (Pranav Mohanlal) and Venu’s (Dhyan Sreenivasan) friendship, which has unfortunately gone off-grid following a petty ego issue. But here the writing and staging lets down what could have been yet another flourishing bromance on screen. It’s a very low-level friendship and one doesn’t feel any emotional attachment or loss when their relationship fades away nor any elation when it rekindles.

What Aattam dismantles along with the latent misogyny and entitlement is also the negative side of the bro code. The 11 men betraying their only female member in the drama troupe along with self-interest is also an enforcement of masculinity. They are also glorifying misogyny and brutally objectifying their female colleagues. Even in the recent Nadanna Sambhavam, the bro code is less about camaraderie and more about a space to flex their toxic masculinity. When a bunch of middle-aged married men socialize over booze, they vent out their insecurities and frustrations and invariably the space reeks of misogyny. Not just that they are also envious of their new neighbor who seems to have struck a warm bond with their wives as well. To hide their envy they spend a lot of time casting aspersions on his character.

In Thallumaala you had a bunch of grownup boys spending a lot of time having silly fights and making up over food. In this part of the town, male bonding is an assertion of masculine identity and aggression.

In hindsight, Dasan and Vijayan in Nadodikkattu had a killer bromance going on, but unlike all the male friendships mentioned here, this was intense and layered, a bond that was nurtured in adversity, warts, and all. And decades later Vineeth Sreenivasan tried to give their friendship a modern spin with Vinod and Abdu in Thattathin Marayathu. Here it is the irreverence that shines through, but somehow the depth of their bond remains strong. Not unlike the Manjummel Boys. Hopefully, our writers/filmmakers are prepping to explore female friendships as well. Or better still, good old romance?